


Reaching Out

by araliya



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 12:32:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15796596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/araliya/pseuds/araliya
Summary: Baking, blueberries and Neil Diamond.





	Reaching Out

**Author's Note:**

> For the anon who wanted C and D being fluffy to Sweet Caroline by Neil Diamond. I changed it up a bit, hope you don’t mind! 
> 
> Send more requests in at my tumblr > araliyaintheskywithdiamonds.
> 
> (why can't I link, ao3 stop being problematic)

“ _...where it began, I can’t begin to knowing…_ ”

 

Chris smiles. The late afternoon sun floats lazily through the kitchen windows, glancing off the tiles and bathing the room in a dappled glow. A new experiment of his is laid out on the counter: blueberry cream cheese hand pies. There’s flour  _everywhere_ (the pastry needs to be perfect, and if it means more clean-up- so be it), and Fitz is lying a few feet away, on the lookout for a stray blueberry.

 

“ _...but then I know it’s growing strong…_ ”

 

Darren is out in the living room at the baby grand. Singing, of course. Music isn’t a part of Chris’ blood like it is Darren’s, streaming through his body among the platelets and the plasma. Darren  _breathes_  music, and Chris drinks it all up because a Darren who makes music for fun of it- who makes music because he  _can_ \- is a Darren who is happy.

 

It’s worse when the music becomes a shackle and not a key, and what he loves the most traps him. Then, Chris can do nothing but watch him fade away little by little, holding his hand out in the hopes that Darren can take ahold of it.  

 

Raspberries would taste good with the cream cheese, Chris thinks idly. But then again, he’s not entirely sure what it will do to the consistency.

 

The raspberries are halfway into the mixing bowl when the quiet tinker of the piano fades away. Chris is about to turn to look at Darren- the song had barely even begun- when he feels a pair of arms circle around his waist.

 

“ _Touching me_ ,” Darren sings into his ear, and Chris yelps, “ _touching youuu..._ ”

 

“ _Darren_ ,” he says over the enthusiastic  _dan dan daans_ , “go  _away_.”

 

“Ouch,” Darren replies indignantly. The asshole doesn’t let go- if anything he tightens his hold even faster. “I never feel appreciated in this house, you know.”

 

Chris rolls out a square of pastry dough as best as he can under Darren’s clasp. “I was appreciating you just fine when you were far away, being heard and not seen.”

 

“Too bad,” Darren says, and Chris can practically  _hear_ his shit-eating grin, “you’re stuck with me. I’ll also ignore your shameless exploitation of my talents if you let me help.”

 

“Nope. You do all the cooking in this house, and I want to count for  _something_.”

 

Darren laughs quietly, the sound strangely comforting in Chris’ ear. “Fine then,” he acquiesces.

 

Chris continues to roll out the pastry, enjoying the warmth from Darren’s body (although he’s definitely not about to  _tell_ him that). Slowly, Darren begins to sing again, gentle and lulling.

 

“ _...look at the night and it don’t seem so lonely…_ ”

 

They stand there, almost-but-not-quite swaying. Darren’s voice is warm and breaking ever so slightly with how quietly he’s singing, the sound of it utterly in place among the scene they’ve unconsciously set: baking, blueberries and Neil Diamond.

 

Darren sings, “ _how can I hurt when I’m holding you_ ,” and Chris sort of, almost, wants to  _cry_ with the bittersweet ideality of it all. Before he can make a fool of himself (and worry Darren in the process), there’s a smacking kiss under his ear, Darren hopping up onto the counter and making grabby hands for the mixing bowl.

 

The overwhelming feeling dissipates until it’s blurring around the corners of his vision, and Chris swats at Darren’s arm.

 

“ _No_ ,” he says, and Darren pouts, instead patting his thighs and laughing when Fitzgerald bounds up onto his lap.

 

“ _-dog hair in the cream cheese-_ ”, Chris tries to protest, but his words are lost under excited yapping and Darren’s cooing and the pattering of paws against tile as Cooper comes to join them.

 

And for a moment, Chris realises, that if he takes a step back to look at it all, his life really is kind of fucking perfect sometimes.

 

_(good times never seemed so good)_


End file.
